


between the words

by barathe0nstark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AND IT'S CUTE, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Reunions, bbys, literally communicate like seriously, they love each other though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 17:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19155478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barathe0nstark/pseuds/barathe0nstark
Summary: Three years after she ventured off in search of a new world, Arya returns to Storm's End looking for resolution of a different kind.





	between the words

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt/gifset from gendrybaratheonn.tumblr.com, which can be found here gendrybaratheonn.tumblr.com/post/185119884068/you-look-like-youre-seeing-a-ghost-how-can-i :D

The hall stood as it always had, huge, warm, imposing. And empty. Empty, save for its owner, seated alone at the centre of the high table, dreaming of his forge and fighting with the treasury figures in front of him. If not for the training his past wars had given him, he may not have noticed the shadows shift slightly out of the corner of his eye. However, he knew better than to ignore a moving shadow. Let alone one whom he loved. His heart stopped in recognition as she stepped out into the light, watching him rise to his feet, face an unreadable mask.

“What are you doing here?” He breathed, words sharp against the still night.

“What, I don’t even get a hello?” There it was. That voice. Gods, the nights he had spent dreaming of that voice.

“Hello.” He said, flat, steady, stronger now. “What are you doing here?”

She stood, silent, his unanswered question hanging in the air. He knew his eyes were flashing, surprised by the anger threatening to overflow inside him. The distance between them stretched for miles, though they were the closest they had been in years.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She stated,

"Given the circumstances I think that’s understandable.” He said, not attempting to keep the edge out of his voice, still rooted to the spot. A silent questioned passed over his eyes. _What do you want?_

“Is it a crime to visit an old friend?” She asked, fingers playing with Needle’s hilt.  _Careful_. He let out a mirthless laugh.

“Is that what we are?” _Don’t do this._

"What else would we be?” _Don’t make me, then._

”Three years, Arya. Three fucking years. And you didn't even say goodbye. I don’t think that’s how you treat a friend.”

"Language, my lord." he wanted to strangle her then.

"My sincerest apologies, Lady Stark. I fear the years have made me coarse.” He straightened his back.

"Don't call me that." the response was automatic.

”Fuck you." he shook his head. It came out far gentler than he had intended. Her breath hitched, but she stayed silent. "Why did you come? Why now?"  _why couldn't you let me forget you?_

"I wanted to see you." she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I didn't want to see you?" he breathed, the ice he commanded to cover his tone melting with every word. She smiled sadly at him.

"You were happy to see me last time.” _Of course not, you stupid bull._

“Stop it.” _This isn’t last time, and you know that._

“Stop what?” It was her turn to flash in anger. “You’re the one who fucked it up."

“Excuse me?"

"'Be the lady of Storm's end' he says. 'None of it will be worth anything if you're not with me' he says." she stopped momentarily, staring him dead in the eye.  _Of course I remember, you arse._

"Clearly that was bullshit, Lord Baratheon."  _You kept it._

“Apologies, my lady, but seeing as apparently the idea of being my wife was so horrific you felt you had to travel to the end of the earth to get away from me, I don’t think you get to call bullshit.” _What did you want me to do?_

She stayed silent. He held up a hand - defeat or surrender? She didn’t know. He couldn’t decide - and sunk back down into his chair.

“Essos.” She said, suddenly, words cutting through the darkness once more.

“What?” He asked, genuine confusion seeping through his tone.

“That’s what’s west of Westeros. Essos. The world has no end. It goes round and round in a circle.” _Much like us, apparently._

“Is it awful that half of me is almost glad?” He asked, the ghost of a smile playing around mouth. The first one she’d seen. “Knowing you, if the world really did have an end you’d sail right off it to see what was on the other side.” she shook her head, her own half smile forming at his assessment. “I-“ he started, not meeting her eye. “I am sorry, though. I know how much you wanted adventure. How much you always wanted adventure.”

She looked at him for a moment, a shadow passing across her face as its expression shifted from the smile of a moment ago, to remembered pain.

"Why, then? Why would you ask me?” She whispered. He immediately knew, his own expression faltering.

"I wanted you with me.”

"You wanted me to be your lady."

"Same thing."

"Gods, you're an idiot. You truly don’t understand what you were asking me to do.”

“I was asking you to be my fucking wife, Arya, what else is there?”

“No, you were asking me to be Lady Baratheon. To simper and preen and wear pretty dresses and bear your children and sit with you in this castle, day in, day out, losing my mind and resenting every second. You were asking to me to grow to hate you.” the floodgates had broken now, and he stood, letting it wash over him. “You were supposed to be the one person who knew me. Really knew me. Gods, we grew up together! That time we spent when I was a girl, travelling, exploring, adventuring. That was the happiest I’d ever been. Still the happiest I’ve ever been.” Her eyes were shining now, dancing in the firelight, though she was still as a statue. “You-“ she began, not daring to look at him, even now. “Even though I wasn’t yours, you were my family.” A tear fell. He wanted nothing more than to brush it away. “And then you left me.” Her eyes grew hard once again, the chip of ice finding its way back into her voice.

“Arya, I-“

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare tell me you didn’t mean it, Baratheon, I swear I will run you through right here in this hall.” She hissed. He flinched. Not at the death threat, in fact it gave him comfort. But hearing his last name, said with such venom from that voice he’d missed so much, he swore that was the steel in the heart she had promised. She stood up abruptly. “My apologies for imposing on you, my lord. I won’t make the same mistake again.” His eyes closed as he saw  her, nimble even in anger as she stalked towards the door. He loved her so much in that moment he thought he would explode with it.

“Arya.” He said, in a tone so tender she stopped in her tracks. “Stay.” _Be with me._

“You will never know how much it hurt. Saying no. Leaving you there.” _I can’t do it again._

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You had a choice all those years ago.” _You chose to leave me behind._

“So did you.” He said, softly.

“No, I didn’t.” _You didn’t give me one._ Piercing blue eyes locked on clouded grey. “And the fact that you think I did is the reason I had to leave.”

“I know.” He said emphatically. Her eyebrow twitched in confusion. “I’m not angry that you said no. I was never angry about that. I’m angry that you left before I could apologise. Gods, Arya, all I ever wanted was you. I wanted Arry, the tiny little urchin I met all those years ago. I wanted Arya, the woman I met when I came to Winterfell to fight the Others. The woman who defeated death itself and still came out looking like the most beautiful creature this ridiculous blacksmith had ever laid his eyes on. I never wanted Lady Stark of Winterfell. Seven hells, if I’d wanted that I could have married your sister.” He stopped for breath, looking to her out of the corner of his eye. “I know who you are. I always have.”

“Then, why-“

“I was drunk.” He said. He swore her eyes rolled back into her head. “You know I only ever wanted a name to be worthy of you.”

“You were always worthy of me. I loved you since I was twelve years old.” _I still love you now._

“Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that everyone cared about.” _I know._

“Fuck everyone! When have we ever cared about everyone?”

“Everyone matters, Arya! Do you honestly think that your family would have let you be with a lowly blacksmith from Fleabottom who couldn’t read or write?”

“You can read.” She said softly. He shook his head, not breaking.

“When Daenerys legitimised me, my only thought was ‘Finally. Finally, she doesn’t have to be ashamed. Finally, we can do this properly.’” _I can love you the way I want to._ “So, yes, I got overexcited and drunk and high on survival, and I made a mistake. The biggest fucking mistake of my life. But then you left. You didn’t even let me explain.” He finished in almost a whisper, sinking down on the edge of the table, unable to meet her eye.

“I’m sorry.” She finally spoke. He looked up in disbelief.

“You’re what?” He breathed.

“I shouldn’t have left. Not like that. You of all people deserved more.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry too, for earlier. It was just a shock. You get used to silence in a place like this.” _I’ll always be happy to see you._

“I should have known better than to ambush you like that.” She perched beside him, fingers brushing over a tiny carved acorn in the edge of the table. She smiled to herself. _Of course you will, you great daft bull._  "I couldn’t even be sure you’d be alone, I don’t know what came over me. Your wife could have been with you-” she was cut off by Gendry choking on the wine he had been drinking.

“Wife?” He spluttered, disbelief etched on his reddening face. A laugh played around her mouth as her eyes narrowed playfully.

“Yes, wife. Lady Baratheon of Storm’s End, first of her name, warmer of your bed and bearer of your children.” She took the cup of wine from his hand as she reeled off the imaginary title, not letting herself look at him.

“She sounds lovely.” He said dryly, some of the humour dripping off his voice. “If you find her, do let me know.” The tension hung thick around them for a moment.

“There’s really nobody? You’re-“ she began “You can’t really have been alone all these years.” She said, genuine disbelief coating every word.

“Well, not truly alone. I have Davos, he’s always around here somewhere. Taught me to write, so now I can do both.” He smiled slightly. “And there’s the people down in the village. I have a forge there still, never could give it up, and I refused to let them build me one up here. I go down there when I can, and mostly they’ve stopped bowing and scraping.”

“But, no-“

“No, Arya, no fucking wife.” He snapped, sharper than he had intended.

“And nobody-“

“Oh, seven hells, did they. Banquets upon banquets, one blonde air headed highborn after another. I’m sure they were all lovely enough, but they made me want to set myself on fire. After half a dozen or so tries, I think everyone gave up. They should have known better than to try in the first place.” _They should have known there was nobody else._

“You shouldn’t be alone.” She said, after a breath, voice small but clear as day. He sighed, a silent battle waging in his head.

“Stay with me then.” Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“You know I can’t-“ _Please, don’t, not again._ She was almost pleading, eyes beginning to shine and flicker once again. He moved slowly so he was in front of her, taking her small hand in his own, her tiny white palm fitting perfectly in his dark, calloused one. She stared at them, intertwined, apparently holding her breath.

“All those things you said before. Those things that you thought I was asking you to do. I would never ask that of you. I never want you to simper or preen, or sit on your arse all day, miserable. I want you to be wild and free and fierce and spar and argue and do everything you’ve ever wanted. And I want you to do them here. Do them with me. Be with me.” He implored her, any vestige of anger gone now, love soaked his every word. She could see it. She always could. He wore his feelings etched on his face, clear as day.

“Gendry, I can’t be a lady. I can’t be what you need.” Her voice was catching.

“Stop telling me what I need. I know what I need, I need you.” He was more insistent now, pulling her off the table to meet him, taking her other hand in his.

“But I can’t be a Sansa-“

“I’m not asking you to be Sansa!” He cried, thumb rubbing over hers. “I’m not asking you to be a Lady, I’m asking you to be you, with me. Because I love you. I’ve always loved you, I will always love you. Arry, I’m yours. Completely, utterly yours, until my last breath.” There was almost no space between them now, his thumb reaching down to brush away the single tear that had fallen across her cheek. She smiled softly.

“You were supposed to be angry with me.” She whispered. “You were angry with me.”

“I can never stay angry with you. I would have followed you off the edge of the world, if there was one.” He smiled. She laughed at that, as he softly let his forehead fall against hers.

“I love you too.” She said. The words were like a jolt to his heart, warmth spreading through him. “Do you mean it?” She asked, words feather light and brimming with emotion.

“Of course.” This time, it truly was the simplest thing in the world. “Arya, do you want this? I don’t want to force-“ he was cut off by her mouth on his. Once he started kissing her, he could no longer knew how he had lasted all these years without it. She tasted of home, of warmth, of light. He could feel her tears still, as his hand moved to cup her cheek. She broke away from him, eyes still shining, but with a warmth he recognised from so many nights on the road.

“I want this. I want you. I want to stay.” She breathed. He broke into a smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“For how long, m’lady?” He asked. She smiled up at him, biting back her retort.

“As long as you’ll have me, my lord.” _Forever_


End file.
